


A Wolf's Cycle, As Recorded By Dean Winchester

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barebacking, Bottom Sam, Codependent Winchesters, Dubious Consent, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nesting, Possessive Dean, Possessive Sam, Protective Dean Winchester, Rimming, Sex Toys, Top Dean, Unhealthy Relationships, Werewolves, Wolf Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 02:58:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11796993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: Sam gets bitten by a werewolf on a hunt, only his changes are a little unusual. Dean is in over his head.A different take on A/B/O tropes.





	A Wolf's Cycle, As Recorded By Dean Winchester

**Author's Note:**

> So, for the sake of this fic, let's either ignore the season twelve episode where there's a wolf cure (I haven't actually seen it) or set it in some other vacuum bunker time period. Whatever suits you guys the best works for me--place it whenever you'd like it to be.
> 
> Also, this is completely id fic, and like 90% porn. Enjoy <3

Sam was heaving in Dean's arms, taking huge lungfuls of air like a fish flopping in a bucket. Dean's world was narrowed down to the bundle in his arms, outlined by each rapid beat of his heart. Sam was heavy in his arms, but god, not heavy enough, and Dean grit his teeth and put one foot in front of the other, trying not to scream at Sam's breathless sobs or the slowly spreading warmth of blood soaking into Dean's shirt.

Sam was a little quieter when Dean kicked open the door to his room and set him down the bed. Dean was at the sink a beat later, flinging open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and grabbing the medkit. He hopped onto the bed, kneeling by Sam's side, and flipped open the lid to the kit.

Dean always lost time in situations like this. After, his memory was murky at best. He got only snatches of the action, like a montage in a gruesome war movie--his bloodied hands, scissors slipping in his fingers as he cut Sam's shirt off of him and removed his clothes. Dean's hands hovering uncertainly over Sam's bite- fuck, so much than a bite- an actual goddamn piece was taken out of Sam's hip, the jagged gouges deep enough to show muscle.

After years of practice- both on his family and in hell- Dean was pretty handy with a needle, but the stitchwork required for Sam's injury was beyond his experience. It wasn't the first time they'd patched each other up and left discolored, bumpy scars, but this would would stand out. Dean hated the thought of Sam's body being broken any further.

At some point during the night, he'd finished stitching Sam up.

About seven and a half minutes after that, all of Sam's open wounds disappeared.

Sam was out cold. Dean stared down at Sam's smooth, unblemished hip, the needle in his hand completely red. Dean had been numb for a couple of hours by now. He hadn't thought, he'd just acted. It had been like every other time Sammy got hurt on a hunt.

Except it wasn't. And Dean had been stupid enough to think denial could fix all of his fucking problems. Well, there was no avoiding the truth of the matter now. He couldn't even feel any satisfaction from having shot every single wolf from the hunt in the fucking heart.

They'd still won.

Sam smacked his lips in his sleep, eyelids fluttering, looking every part like he was just dozing, that nothing was wrong.

Dean carefully slipped the covers over Sam and sat against the headboard by his side, standing guard. He wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. Dean put a hand under Sam's nose, just to feel a warm breath puff against his palm.

Dean stared at the far wall, eyes going distant.

All he could see were the eyes of the wolves. They'd been like nothing he'd ever seen--a glittery, emerald green, no pupil, no iris. Other than that, Dean couldn't figure out how they were any different from other werewolves. They'd had the same superhuman strength, and had ripped through bodies like they were made of cream.

Dean shivered. The pack had been protecting an older one, sitting deep in their fucked up nest on a modest throne. An actual goddamn throne. That one hadn't fought or blinked. He didn't even move until he'd lunged at Sam, moving with practiced, inhuman speed, taking Sam down like a ton of bricks and sinking his despicable jaws into his flesh.

Dean's hands curled into fists at his sides. The leader had gone down, same as the rest of them, courtesy of Dean's silver bullets.

But he couldn't shake the even, calculated, green gaze of the creature.

***

Dean woke up to Sam shakily pressing his colt into his hands, the cool metal smooth against his fingertips.

Dean looked into Sam's eyes, which were as earnest as ever, watery, brows furrowed deep enough to carve strong creases in Sam's forehead. Dean had been at the end of this particular brand of puppy dog eyes before way too many goddamn times. He could see Sam so clearly, a decade younger, before they'd figured out Sam was immune to the Croatoan virus.

Dean met Sam's silent pleads with a small shake of his head. He picked up his gun and ignored how Sam's breath hitched. "Don't you ever learn?" Dean murmured, looking down at his gun as he dismantled it, bullets rolling out across his lap and clinking quietly against each other.

"Dean," Sam said, throat blocked with tears, "you know as well as I do that there's no cure for this."

Dean snorted. He kept his eyes on his lap and loosely shrugged a single shoulder. "We just have to look harder."

"We looked hard for Kate," Sam snapped, raising his voice. "We did all we could. There was nothing. There is nothing." Sam took a watery breath. "I don't want this," he said, strength leeching from his tone, voice cracking. "Dean. Please."

"Sammy," Dean croaked. He met Sam's gaze, seeing his own pain mirrored there. "I can't."

Sam's face slowly went blank, his lips thinning out. "I know," he said eventually, and Dean went cold at the lack of emotion there.

Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders, forcing Sam to face him. He pushed Sam's chin up with his thumb, leaning forward, eyes flicking urgently between Sam's. "You listen to me," he said, not daring to blink, "we will figure this out. We can fix this. Please let me try. Don't do anything stupid. I'm gonna help you, Sammy, I'm gonna do all I can."

Sam's face didn't even twitch. He was still poker-faced. The only thing that gave him away was the gaunt hollowness of his eyes. "And if you can't," Sam said, and it wasn't a question.

Dean looked away.

Sam cleared his throat. "If I turn, if I hurt-"

"If it comes to that, we'll do something," Dean spoke over him, rushing his words. "For now--it's SamWatch, okay? Tell me everything you feel, and be honest. We're gonna get some food in you, and we're gonna hit the books."

***

Thankfully, Sam didn't report any desire to consume human hearts, unreasonable anger, or a lust for the moon. Dean made him a burger, half to get some protein in the kid, half to see how he responded to meat. Sam wolfed it down, pun intended, but didn't hulk out or anything. Dean made him another burger, red in the middle, and Sam ate that, too.

Their eyes met over the table, and Dean latched onto the hesitant hope wavering in Sam's gaze.

Maybe Dean's denial really was a superpower.

***

The charade did not last long.

Dean enjoyed about a week of what he'd later call the "honeymoon" stage--Sam was completely the same, personality wise, and the only noticeable change in him was his increased hunger and taste for meat. Sam tried to discipline himself and go for a salad, but it didn't satisfy his cravings.

Hey. Dean could feed Sam a keto diet for the rest of his life, it was hardly a fucking issue. If anything, Dean would join him. Shit's delicious.

After a week had passed, though, Sam started lying to Dean.

They still researched, though with a little less zeal than before. They hadn't found out anything about a cure or about green-eyed werewolves. Dean checked in with Sam twice a day, asking him how he felt, if he wanted anything, what thoughts he had.

Sam's responses went from "not the best, but I'm here," and "for you to get your beer breath out of my face," and "it's fitting Grover Cleveland is only known for serving two nonconsecutive terms" to "fine," "pretty good," and "just about what's for dinner."

Sam was a sweaty bastard, but the bunker was chilly, and nothing accounted for the sudden sickly pallor he acquired and the way he soaked right through his t-shirt. His jaw was contantly tight, and he hardly looked at Dean, answering him monosyllabically and shittily faking little smiles.

It jarred Dean. Sammy had to know how little he was fooling his big brother.

After about a day of Sam's behavior taking a turn for the worse, he started avoiding Dean.

They'd research at opposite ends of a twelve-foot table. Sam would eat in his room. Their paths never crossed unless Dean went and sought him out. If he casually sat down within five feet of Sam, five minutes later, Sam would make a weak excuse and leave the room.

It shouldn't surprise Dean, shouldn't crush his lungs and force the tears out of his eyes, but it did. After all this fucking time, after everything they'd fought through together... this just had to happen.

Dean didn't have to be a genius to be able to tell that Sam was craving him, that Sam was restraining himself from jumping Dean and chewing through him like a pig at a buffet.

Dean flipped aimlessly through yet another lore book that held precisely zero new information, eyes robotically scanning the page but not taking anything in.

Dean slammed the book shut, resting his elbows on the table and massaging his temples, eyes closed.

He let out a long breath. This wasn't something they could avoid. If Sam was getting closer to the breaking point, Dean had to go face him, and chain him to something or something. Maybe Dean could strike a deal with a butcher- or, holy shit, someone in a morgue- and get Sam some hearts. It didn't seem so bad, the more that Dean thought about it.

With a determined swing to his step, Dean left the library, intent on hunting Sam down.

He found Sam in his own room.

Sam was on his belly on Dean's bed, face pressed into Dean's pillow, eyes squeezed shut, hips moving in little agitated jerks.

Dean coughed. Sam didn't flinch like a man caught red-handed, didn't blurt some dumb excuse out about why the hell Sam was humping Dean's dirty sheets.

Sam whined.

Dean crept closer. He cleared his throat several times in increasing volume. Sam just made more strung-out noises, and they stopped sounding like noises of pleasure and started sounding more like Sam was in genuine pain.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, standing by the side of the bed. Sam was so drenched in sweat that he looked like he'd just gotten out of the shower and hadn't toweled off. The smell proved that that was untrue.

Sam looked up at Dean, eyes bloodshot, tear tracks on his cheeks. "Dean," Sam groaned. "Please... you have to go."

Dean sat on the edge of the bed. He put a hand on the back of Sam's neck and Sam rolled into the touch, turning his face away. Sam was burning up.

"Sam." Dean shook his head. "You have to tell me what's going on with you. This isn't something you can lie about. You're the case right now, alright? I need all the facts so I can help."

Sam lifted his head, blinking up at Dean with a face so hopeless and red it was almost comical. This was about as fucked up and weird as it got, but Dean was familiar with fucked up and weird. He could roll with this.

"Sammy," Dean pressed, watching the fight leave Sam's bones. "What's going on?"

"I can't think, I-I can't fucking concentrate, I can't control it," Sam babbled, panting between words, "my body's on fire. My nose is going crazy. I... I followed your scent. It was strongest here."

Dean waited for more. "And?" he asked. "Still a little lost."

Sam bit back a moan. "I'm so fucking sorry," he said, voice reed-thin. "I... know what this is."

Dean sat up. "You do? Cut the crap, Sammy. What is it? How can I fix it?"

Sam laughed, but it was a dejected noise. "You really shouldn't ask that," he muttered, turning his face back into the pillow. "I think, uh, I think the wolf that bit me was a lot closer to canine than the run-of-the-mill breed."

Dean stayed quiet.

Sam's red cheeks flushed redder. He turned his face away and cleared his throat. "I looked it up," he said. "All my symptoms match. I'm in heat."

Dean opened his mouth. He blinked, brain going to slush. He'd definitely heard that right. "You're in heat?" he repeated dumbly. "Like a bit--female dog?"

Sam's shoulders tensed. "Yes," he said into the pillow. "Yes."

"So what you need..." Dean perked up. "Holy shit, dude, this isn't that bad."

Sam rolled his neck to stare up at Dean with wide eyes and a dubious expression.

Dean shrugged, grinning cheekily. "We can just get you a prostitute," he said. "You like brunettes? You know, the only adjustments so far have been way more burgers and now more ass. Might be an improvement, Sammy."

Sam didn't find it nearly as funny as Dean. If anything, he became more agitated at Dean's suggestion, avoiding his eyes and snapping his hips with a little more force.

"That wouldn't work," Sam eventually said. "That wouldn't solve it. That's not what I need."

The pain in Sam's voice wiped any traces of a smirk off of Dean's face. He leaned into Sam's space, putting a hand on Sam's gross, sweaty shoulder. "What do you need?" Dean asked. "You have to tell me. I need to help you."

Sam cried weakly into the pillow. "Your scent," he said, "has been driving me crazy all day. Porn does nothing. I can't even jerk off. I'm... I'm awful, Dean, but I need you, okay? Just you."

Dean froze. Sam's last two words echoed in his head.

Sam was talking again, and Dean forced himself to listen. "...because we live in each other's pockets," Sam was saying. "There was no one else, and I guess I don't trust anyone else--my gut is telling me you're my mate. I'm dizzy with it. Please... heats pass. Just lock me up somewhere and let me out when it's over."

Dean steeled himself. His own unshakeable resolve was unnerving himself. "No," he said calmly.

Sam's body trembled. "No?"

"You think we can do this every month?" Dean asked evenly. "Did your research tell you how long this would last? What if it's a week, Sammy? What then? We can't just put everything on hold while you sweat your way to dehydration."

"I'm sorry," Sam sobbed, wiping his tears with a fist. His face was crumpled up in some of the worst shame Dean had ever seen, lips wobbling like crazy. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Dean said, shrugging, trying to sound as amicable as possible.

Sam didn't respond.

"I mean it," Dean said. "If it had been you instead of me, I'd be in your bed right now, dreaming of your ugly hair."

Sam looked up at him, blinking slowly, doe-eyes swimming with a mixture of tentative hope and shock.

"Sam," Dean said carefully, making sure Sam was looking at him, looking at the lack of disgust and hate on his face. "Let me help."

Sam went quiet. Dean knew there was no fight left in his body, that whatever the hell this heat was, it was goddamn strong, and Sam was at wit's end. Dean could not imagine how Sam must be feeling right now. Usually, a boner was a great thing, but, fuck. Right now, for Sam, it must mean something horrible, something invasive. He hadn't asked for it.

Dean shook his head. Any further into that line of thought and his lunch would make a reappearance.

"Did you want this?" Dean asked quietly. "Before?"

Sam was looking at him with tears in his eyes. He bit his lip, and that was enough.

Dean moved his hand from Sam's shoulder to his spine, slowly rubbing down his back.

Sam spasmed under him, trying and failing to freeze when his body was so keen on doing just the opposite.

"I'm not doing anything I don't want to," Dean promised. "Let me help, Sammy."

Sam hissed, but went loose, and Dean went to work.

His heart was racing just like it had a week ago, with Sam's blood on his hands.

This was different.

Sam was practically useless, so Dean stripped Sam out of his clothes for the second time that week. Sam's skin shone in the low light, a pool of sweat forming in the dimples above his ass.

Sam lay on his stomach, completely naked and harshly panting, eyes glued to Dean. They were dull with basic lust, lips slightly open.

Dean pulled his henley off over his head. His hands went to his belt. A beat later, his jeans and boxers were pooled around his feet. He crawled onto the bed by Sam's feet, the mattress creaking under the added weight.

Sam pressed his face into the pillow and whimpered. "Dean, please," he stuttered. "Need you."

Dean shivered, feeling his cock grow heavy with blood.

If Sam was fucked up right now, Dean had him beat by a mile.

"Right here, Sammy," he said, his voice deep and gravelly with want. "I gotcha."

Sam spread his legs. His ass was dusted with soft, fine hairs, and Dean leaned forward, pulling Sam's cheeks apart to look at his hole.

It was wet.

Dean's cock jumped.

Sam's hole flexed and contracted before his eyes, a beat of wetness dripping down his crack and onto his balls.

"You're wet," Dean blurted. "You're wet for me."

Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean for a brief second before hiding his face again. "I know," he said. "Just--hurry up."

"Okay, okay, don't worry," Dean murmured, rubbing his hands up and down Sam's sides. Sam visibly relaxed, shoulders going loose.

Dean gripped the base of his cock with a shaky hand, heart pounding. He wished he could go slower, give Sammy more time, make it matter, make Sam know that he...

Sam needed him now, though, had needed him for the past day, and they didn't have the time for a lover's embrace.

Dean straddled Sam, pushing his cock into Sam's hole. Sam opened up easily under him, his slick hole fluttering and pulling Dean in deep. Dean groaned, bracketing his arms on either side of Sams' ribs and fucking him shallowly.

The wet noises joined the pants and moans in the otherwise silent room. Sam was tight, but no more than any other wet pussy Dean had fucked, so he sped up his pace, and fucked Sam harder and deeper, closing his eyes and biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, the copper tang joining the symphony of intense sensations Dean experienced.

Dean pressed his nose into the spot under Sam's ear, grunting as he pistoned his hips with all of his might, his pelvis slapping loudly against Sam's ass.

Mounting Sam felt so good, and it had been so long since Dean had last enjoyed anyone like this. And the fact it was Sam underneath him, keening and begging, needing him, needing him so badly, and Dean was protecting him...

It shouldn't have made Dean so hard, made him dig his nails into the softness of Sam's hips and let loose, but it did. It made Dean lightheaded with desire. This was so much hotter and more sinful than any of Dean's fantasies. It made his fetishes seem so fucking vanilla.

Sam was practically crying underneath him, laying pliant as Dean pushed into him once, twice, three times, before his hips stuttered and his vision went white and he was coming, coming harder than he had in his life, his cock pulsing as it dumped come deep into his little brother.

Dean flopped on top of Sam, gasping. They were a pile of sweaty, salty entangled limbs, and Dean's muscles were offline for a moment while he lay there and tried to come back down to his body.

Dean propped himself up on shaky elbows, rolling off of Sam and collapsing by his side. "Need some help?" he asked.

"No, I..." Sam glanced at him before looking down, biting his lip. Dean sat up and looked at Sam's ass. His cock was pressed flat against the bed, a large, white stain on the covers beneath the head. Come was dribbling out of his hole, and Dean felt a rush of possession flooding throughout him.

Dean had no words. His life changed more drastically today than it had when Sam got bitten.

Yet Dean felt like this, of all things, was a very long time in the making.

He wondered what that said about him.

***

They adjusted. Sam kept a diary of his various feelings and thoughts. Precisely zero of them were murderous. Dean supposed that might be why they hadn't encountered green-eyed wolves before. Maybe they were all minding their own damn business, except for one pack of psychopaths.

He still hadn't seen Sam's eyes flash that creepy shade of green. It was probably for the best. Dean was not about to question it.

Sam had a cycle, and a month ago, Dean would have mocked him relentlessly for it, but things had shifted drastically in such a short span of time.

Dean felt like a Man of Letters for the first time when he started documenting Sam's changes, and how his cycle operated. For about ten days, give or take one, leading up to and immediately following the full moon, Sam's werewolfishness was unavoidable. For the rest of the month, he was the same dork, just with a bigger penchant for bacon and steak.

Dean put down his pen and shut the book. Sam's cycle was supposed to start tomorrow. He could do a better job recording it if he observed it in real time. For a few days, he'd be a bit occupied, but he should be able to find time even then to document Sam.

Sam padded into the room in PJ bottoms and smiled at Dean, dimples out. Dean smiled back; all it took was Sam's happiness to make his own foster and shine.

Funny how the strangest shit could bring them closer together than anything mundane or normal could.

***

DAYS 1-3

Sam's cycle started out with his heats. They were just as intense each time, and while fucking seemed to help, only time made them disappear.

Dean could not keep up with Sam's needs. Even as a fucking sixteen year old he wouldn't have been able to keep up with Sam's supercharged libido.

While Dean enjoyed their time in the sheets, he knew they both avoided the subject of how the heats turned Sam into a bit of a zombie. He wasn't himself, and his body overrode his decisions at every turn.

Dean couldn't stop them from happening. He helped Sam the best way he could--with a good fuck. And if he came a little bit harder when he could move Sam however he wanted and Sam bonelessly submitted to it, well, he could keep that to himself.

Sam had a dildo and a buttplug for when Dean's personal endowment was unavailable. On the morning of the first day, Dean found Sam crouched in the shower, the dildo suction cupped to the floor, half hard cock hanging between his legs. Sam was barely moving, just twitching his hips, really, and shampooing his hair while sitting there.

Later, Dean got ready for the day, made them breakfast, and slipped Sam's sweatpants off of his ass and wiggled the plug out of him. He fingered Sam for awhile, getting him nice and desperate, before bending him over the kitchen table and splitting him in half with his cock.

Sam was more aware this time, and fucked back onto Dean's cock as best as he could, getting on his tippy-toes and moving in sync with Dean's movements. Dean tangled his hands in Sam's silky hair and yanked his head up, biting at his throat. Sam whimpered in a way Dean was very familiar with, and Dean moved one hand from Sam's hair to his cock, milking him through his orgasm while Sam whined and cried.

Dean followed over the edge not much longer after that.

The rest of his morning was spent lazing around, and writing down a censored version of their time together for posterity's sake. Sam was off in his room, and Dean didn't need to check in to know how he was doing.

When Dean brought Sam lunch, with two bottles of water so Sam wouldn't fuck himself to death, Sam was on his hands and knees, his hole puffy and red and open. He was fucking himself with two fingers, but was lethargic and uninspired, his cock hanging heavy and irritated between his legs.

They ate together, Dean munching on a sandwich with one hand and fucking Sam with a vibrator with the other. Sam came, and fell asleep. Dean dozed by his side, stomach full, content like a fat cat.

When he woke, it was to Sam crouched over his chest, lowering himself onto Dean's hard cock. Dean grabbed Sam and flipped their positions, slamming Sam into the bed on his back. Sam spread his legs, eyelids low and pupils blown. He licked his lips.

Dean didn't think before kissing him, realizing in the back of his head that this was the first time they'd done it. Sam mewled and kissed him back, sex forgotten for a brief moment.

Dean nibbled Sam's bottom lip and pressed his tongue into Sam's mouth, swiping at the roof of his mouth and tasting him. Sam kissed back with vigor, their tongues brushing, and Sam kept kissing him while he reached down and guided Dean's dick back inside him.

Sam was loose. The fuck was sloppy and uncoordinated, but still good. Dean barely came, his orgasm hitting him with an edge of pain.

Sam came not much longer after that from Dean's fingers up his ass, still a fucking fountain. Dean wondered how much of the water Sam drank was going straight down to his dick.

That night, Sam only fell asleep after Dean slid down between his thighs and lapped at his abused hole with a warm, soft tongue, soothing Sam with broad swipes and licks. Sam's slick was salty and oddly sweet in his mouth, and Dean ate it up, coming in his boxers when Sam spilled all over his tummy without a single touch to his cock.

***

That was life, more or less, for the next three days. Each day was a little less intense than the last, and Sam could go a little longer without Dean before becoming antsy.

At the end of the third day, Sam took a long shower, and came out with his cock still soft. They curled against each other, naked and warm, and Dean knew without a doubt that he'd never be able to sleep in any other way again.

He ran his hands across Sam's body and Sam nuzzled him, yawning once before kissing him soundly. They kissed until Sam yawned into Dean's mouth and snuggled against Dean's side, tucking his head into Dean's shoulder.

Dean held Sam against his side, closing his eyes and lavishing in the full and complete need that Sam had for him, for his mate.

***

DAYS 4-7

After Sam's heat ended came the period Dean had begun to refer to as "nesting."

Sam became worryingly possessive of Dean, and rarely allowed him to leave his side. They spent the greater majority of their time in bed, either napping or laying and talking or watching TV. Sam would bring Dean's hoodies and boxers and blankets to the bed, buidling a protective barrier around the two of them and cuddling up in it.

Dean had never tried to say no to Sam or draw him out of his den. He didn't see the point. If Sam needed to tell the nonexistent people in their lives that Dean was his and no one else's, then Dean wasn't about to stop him.

Sam was put off of sex after his heat, and Dean didn't mind. His sore dick could use a few days of recuperation before jumping back into activities.

They left the bed to piss and do a lap around the bunker. If Sam was feeling closer to normal, they worked out, or went on supply runs, but for the most part, Dean's life for the second part of Sam's cycle was zeroed down to blankets, warmth, and Sam's softness and smell.

He favored it to the first part of the cycle.

***

Things hit a slight bump when they were forced to leave Sam's nest to go on a grocery run.

They'd run out of frozen meats, deli meats, and fresh meats, which was unacceptable. Dean was having the goddamn time of his life in the kitchen creating random shit for Sam. Burgers were a classic, of course, but sometimes they felt like loaded omelets, steaks, patty melts, sloppy joes, burritos. Dean was becoming pretty adept at a massive range of meat-focused meals, if he said so himself.

Sam had gained weight, thank god, but a part of Dean worried that it wouldn't stop, for either of them. They hadn't hunted in weeks, and rarely left the bunker. The majority of their lives were filled with food and sex.

Dean thought getting some air and being among normal people might do them some good. Sam was quiet on the drive to the grocery store, folding and unfolding the grocery list in his hands. When Dean parked the car, Sam was immediately out the door and briskly walking over to Dean's side.

Their elbows brushed as they walked through the store, and Sam was never more than a pinky-length away from Dean's side. They were practically joined at the hip. They pushed the cart through the store with hands overlapping on the handle.

They loaded up on the basics, as well as some treats because fuck it. Dean grabbed some beer and some macaroni and hotdogs for Sam.

They mutually agreed to split up to speed things up, and as an unofficial experiment. Dean wanted to see if Sam could tolerate any distance or time apart from Dean during the nesting phase. The reaction would be valuable for Dean's notes and for when they inevitably had to save the world apart from each other during the phase in the future.

They didn't need to think about the future just yet.

Dean headed over to the deli and ordered a few cuts for dinner. He stacked the various meats on top of the cereal boxes in the cart, humming to himself. Sam had the list, so Dean went over what he could remember in his mind. He didn't think there was anything else he needed to get that Sam wouldn't fetch.

Dean directed the cart toward the checkout, pausing in an aisle to look at a few discount taco shells. He was comparing two different brands when he felt a light touch on his elbow.

"Excuse me." A middle aged woman with curly black hair smiled up at him, eyes crinkling. "Could you reach that for me, if it's no trouble?"

Dean followed where her index finger was pointing to some soft shells on the highest shelf. "Sure," he said, reaching up and grabbing a bag. He handed it to her, and she thanked it, placing it in her own card.

"Just another two bags if you could, please," she said, and Dean nodded, reaching up to snag a few more for her.

He handed them off to her, their hands brushing. She smiled at him, bobbing her head. "Thank you, thank you," she said. She opened her mouth to say something else when a growl made them turn.

Sam was standing in the aisle, glaring at the two carts that blocked his way like they'd personally wronged him. His eyes flicked up to meet the lady's, and Dean's eyes widened at the malice written across Sam's features. It was a narrow-eyed look Dean rarely saw--it was saved for devils and serial killers and child abusers.

And right now, Betty Crocker.

"Leave," Sam spat, and the woman gawped for a split second before scrabbling for her cart and scurrying down the aisle, wheels screeching away as she fled.

Sam was in Dean's space the next moment, sniffing him behind the ear and grumbling. Sam gave him a sharp bite, and Dean batted him away. "Ow," he said.

Sam didn't look sorry.

They went through the check out in silence, the bagger giving them little sideways looks every once in a while and not bothering with small talk.

When they were all set, they headed out of the store, arms laden with bags, Sam still somehow managing to be touching Dean with multiple parts of his body.

When their shit had been loaded in the trunk and Dean was back behind the wheel, he rubbed absently at the tiny scab behind his ear and smiled.

Sam caught his eye and smiled back, with an edge.

They had dinner in bed and kissed the savory taste out of each other's mouths.

***

DAYS 8-9

Dean remembered the discovery of the final part of the cycle with clarity and detail. Almost shitting your pants will do that to you.

He had left a sleepy, loose-limbed Sam in their nest of blankets and bumbled over to the kitchen, only mostly awake. He cooked them some eggs and bacon, enjoying a brief moment alone but looking forward to coming back to Sam.

Sam's nesting phase had been three days, which was around the same length as the heat, so Dean was hoping that it was all over for the time being, and things could return to sort of normal. They had to discuss plans and the future at some point, however much Dean wanted to avoid it. It could only be done with Sam's head on straight, though. He left the plates of food on the table and made his way back to Sam. The bedroom door was closed. Dean opened it without a pause. "Breakfast," he called out. "I made some--jesus fucking christ!"

Dean backed up against the door, mouth open. His desire to protect a home cooked meal overrode his self-preservation instincts, and he managed to set the plate down without breaking it and kick it off to the side.

There was a wolf on the bed.

A massive, shit-your-pants, furry creature with hazel eyes and a long, deep brown coat.

It wasn't a fucking dog, that was for sure. There was an apex predator on Dean's comforter.

The wolf- Sam- barked at Dean.

Dean stayed plastered against the wood, swallowing thickly. "Sammy?" he asked, voice shaking just a little bit. "You're not gonna eat me, right?"

The wolf blinked balefully at him for several beats before hopping off the bed and padding over to him. Dean forced himself to stay still and remain calm. He schooled his breathing, a nature documentary voice-over man unhelpfully supplying his thoughts with a reminder that wolves could smell fear.

They locked eyes, and Dean held his breath. The wolf moved slowly and gracefully over to Dean, and sat back on his haunches. Sam snuffed once before mashing the top of his head against Dean's hand, tail wagging manically.

Dean scritched the top of Sam's head, and Sam closed his eyes, panting in pleasure. After a brief moment of petting, Sam walked over to the plate of food and licked it up.

Okay, Dean amended, maybe it was a fucking dog.

***

Wolf Sam was docile, adorable, and really fucking soft, but it was still a shitty phase nonetheless.

Sam couldn't speak. He didn't have thumbs. Or even just eyebrows to raise skeptically at Dean's antics. The core of their dynamic was weakened like this. Sam could only bark or growl or whine in response to what Dean said.

Dean talked enough for the both of them, filling up silences with stupid stories and random, useless rants, but it was just as much to bulldoze over his loneliness as it was to comfort Sam.

Wolf Sam didn't have any particular needs. He ate the same thing as usual, ran around a lot, and generally was a pretty amicable roommate. But he wasn't completely Sam. He was an animal.

Thankfully, that first cycle had ended after the wolf phase, and the rest of the month had bipedal, furless, relatively happy Sam to enjoy. Without heats, kissing and fucking were more enjoyable. There was no timer hanging over their heads, no glaze covering Sam's eye.

It was just them.

And Sam was a fucking freak.

It was the best discovery Dean had ever made. Sam could deepthroat. Sam loved panties just as much as Dean did and looked incredible in them. The deep blue ones with the simple lace border were Dean's favorite. They made Sam's eyes darker.

Heats dulled both of their libidos, so when the cycle was over, they didn't fuck often, but when they did, it was a fucking show. The works. Sam bounced in Dean's lap while Dean watched porn. They pushed and fought, wrestling and fucking interchangeably.

It felt honest. He could see them, soft-cheeked and higher-pitched, looking for Dad and sucking each other's cocks in their free time.

Sam's smell and Sam's taste were familiar before he even became acquainted with them like this. When he found out how sensitive Sam was, and how he could come twice if Dean moved in the right way, Dean wasn't surprised. It matched Sam's personality.

Sam wasn't the sexiest person in the world. If anything, he was tentative with Dean, treating him carefully, and only letting loose and going roughly when Dean was the one to push and provoke him. He wasn't perfect, and his flaws made Dean just as hard as his perfections.

They were fucked as hell, honestly, and Dean couldn't give a shit. He didn't have to pretend to distance himself from other people or consider a relationship with a girl that didn't have his heart in it. They were wrapped up in one another, inextricably.

***

When Dean woke up to the first day of Wolf Sam, he rolled onto his side and dragged his fur-covered brother into his arms, burying his face in Sam's scruff and falling back asleep.

The next time he awoke, he was alone. He found Sam in the kitchen, sitting in a kitchen chair like a person, head cocked expectantly.

Dean rolled his eyes and did all the prerequesitite bitching, telling Sam he wasn't an in-house cook, but he made Sam some sausage and beef anyway, watching Sam lick his jowls in satisfaction when he was done wolfing it down.

They spent the rest of the day walking in the woods behind the bunker.

It was the height of summer, and the world was humid and thick, but the tree canopy was solid and green, lending them some shade and the occasional cool breeze.

A bubbling stream criss-crossed the paths every once in awhile, and Sam stopped for a drink every now and then, lapping up the water. He stepped into the shallows as he drank and shook himself off when he stepped back out and came back to Dean's side, brushing up against his thigh.

They stopped for a break in a small glade, dappled sunlight warming up the grass under their feet.

Sam flopped around in the puddles of sunlight, closing his eyes and showing his belly to the sky. Dean snuck over and rubbed Sam's belly. Sam barked at him, but his tail began to wag.

Laughing, Dean scritched Sam under the elbows and watched his back leg thump of its own volition.

"You idiot," Dean teased, scratching Sam behind the ear in the place he liked the most.

Sam opened his mouth, tongue lolling. Dean pet him for a moment longer before getting up. He put his hands on his hips, looking out across the glade and into the dense underbrush beyond it. A few birds took flight off to their left, chirping and calling to one another.

Sam sat up, ears perked and alert. He scanned the forest, looking every part the majestic wolf.

Dean watched him, seeing only the animal, not the brother.

Sam looked back at Dean and the illusion faded, the world moving in normal time once again. Sam cocked his head at Dean, and Dean ruffled his fur before starting the walk back home.

***

Dean woke up before Sam did when the cycle was over.

He did each time without fail.

He savored the brief, quiet morning moments he had alone with a peacefully sleeping Sammy. Sam was in human form once again, naked and soft, turned toward Dean, mouth open as he drooled on the pillow.

Dean brushed Sam's hair out of his face, rubbing his shoulder. Sam stirred, stretching his toes before shifting a little and settling back down with a sigh.

***

The beginning of that day was uneventful. Dean cooked, they ate. Dean recorded the end of the cycle, including the date and any pertinent details he could think of. Sam was across from him, journalling. Dean didn't know what Sam wrote. He'd never asked, Sam had never told him, and he'd never looked. Whatever it was, though, it seemed to help, so Dean was grateful for it.

Sam's phone rang and they looked up at each other. Dean closed his book and set his pen down at the same time Sam answered the call.

Dean listened to Sam's half of the phonecall. The subject was obvious by Sam's professional tone of voice and the kinds of questions he asked.

When Sam slid his phone back into his pocket, Dean nodded at him. "A hunt?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "A hunt," he confirmed.

Dean put his feet up on the table. "We gonna take it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sam smiled at him. "Think we can handle it?" he asked, smile flickering briefly with doubt.

Dean stood up. He grabbed Sam by the shirt collar and drew him in for a brief kiss across the table. He pulled back, using his thumb to wipe saliva from Sam's cheek. "Think there's only one way to find out," he said. "You ready for this?"

They traded a look. Sam's resolve set as Dean watched. "I'll start packing," Sam said.

"Good idea."

Sam left, disappearing down the hallway. Dean looked up and down the library, nodding to himself. Their self-imposed hiatus was over.

They were different people now, different creatures. A different entity.

The world didn't know what was coming.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the extended hiatus from AO3--I've been writing a novel. It's now finished at 125,000 words, and I've begun the search for an agent, so please wish me luck! I promise to update you guys if there is any news. I wrote it originally as a j2 bigbang, and am still deliberating over posting it here as one. Someone told me it's not good form to post a novel online first, with 50 Shades being an exception (lol), but the details would be pretty different from the j2 version to the original character version, so I don't know for sure. If anyone knows anything about this sort of thing please tell me.
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with me and for reading this <3 I'm headed off to college in a day, but hopefully it won't be as long before I post another fic. Thanks again for being patient and for leaving your love in the comments. <3


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